


Came for the coffee, stayed for you

by nashirah



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nashirah/pseuds/nashirah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ask him about <i>Twilight!</i>” They heard Laura’s shout. Derek almost dropped his hammer.</p><p>“For Christ’s sake, Laura!” He shouted back, and added, calmer now, “She made me read it, alright.”</p><p> </p><p>(Or the one in which Stiles' dad owns a bookstore and Derek's mom runs a coffee shop. It's just a romance waiting to happen.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Came for the coffee, stayed for you

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for a Polish Secret Santa exchange. Long story short, the prompt was Laura Hale (and possibly the rest of the Hales) alive, Laura/Stiles brotp and Derek pretending to be annoyed by it.
> 
> Big thanks to [Amy Rose](http://stilinskisparkles.tumblr.com), who is a darling and made this little fic readable. ❤
> 
> Hope you enjoy it and you can always drop me an ask [on my tumblr](http://lonewolfed.tumblr.com)!

There were no customers that day, at all.

Stiles, bored out of his mind, played around with the settings of a little fan placed on the countertop. It was their piss poor imitation of air conditioning, which they didn't have. When Stiles started playing The Imperial March using the switch on it, his dad looked up at him from the book he was reading.

"Dust the shelves off."

"I already did that."

"Unpack those boxes, then."

"And I did that too."

The ex-sheriff was fighting the amusement, trying to cover his smirk with a book. How could he possibly be laughing when his son was in a mortal danger of dying of severe boredom?

" Arrange the books in the reverse alphabet?"

Stiles sighed dramatically, pushing the fan away and pulling it back up because even though the appliance was old and battered and barely working, even the slightest whiff of air was better than the almost touchable heat that took over the rest of the bookshop.

"I have a feeling I will do just that, thanks, dad."

Used books took up every available space in the store, including the shelves and two out of three windowsills. Given that he'd be working at an average speed, the task could take up to two full weeks, if he was lucky.

Stiles had no idea what he was supposed to do for the rest of his summer break, though.

“I thought this is what you wanted for me, son. To finally relax.” His dad was eyeing him quizzically. He’d be been doing that a lot ever since Stiles came back from college. Which was the day before yesterday.

“Can’t you relax just as every other retired person in this country does? Watching TV, or something? Even daytime television is better than this, because this? This isn’t relaxing, dad. This is torture.”

Dad just shrugged, returning to the book he was reading. Stiles groaned, seriously considering arranging the books in some very time-consuming way. Maybe according to the colors on the covers, including the gradients.

It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t want a less stressful job for his father. He knew his dad wouldn’t sit still for too long – Stiles remembered all those times he tried getting involved in various investigations even during vacation – but opening a used bookshop was a suspiciously uneventful business.

Stiles was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.  
The other shoe turned out to be the first customer that day. At first Stiles didn’t even raise his head, busy with rearranging the books.

“Good morning!”

“Good morning, Sheriff!”

Dad hadn’t been the sheriff for two years now, but almost no one in town called him by his name, choosing “the Sheriff” instead. Stiles wasn’t sure if anybody even knew his dad’s first name anyway.

Finally, Stiles peeked out from behind the bookshelf. Just in time to see a woman handing his dad a stack of books – mostly terrible romances with even more terrible pink covers, and, randomly A Tale of Two Cities – and his dad pulling out a similar stack from under the counter with a smile.

The woman could be his dad’s age, or slightly older. She was one of those amazing people, who looked classy and out of your league regardless of what they were wearing or what time it was.

So all that comradery with Stiles’ dad was highly unsettling.

“I’ll send Laura with the coffee in a minute. Are you sure you don’t want anything from our special menu?”

Dad shook his head, pointing with his thumb at the bookshelf, which was Stiles’ vantage point.

“I’ll take two today. I have company.”

“Oh?”

The woman turned to face Stiles and he _knew her_. He saw her sometimes in Beacon Hills, before he left for college. He couldn’t remember the name now, but he could say that she lived with her daughter in the suburbs, and that she had a son, a couple of years older than Stiles, too. Stiles remembered her son the most. Mostly because of the fact that he vastly contributed to Stiles discovering and exploring his own bisexuality.

“And what can I get for you, sweetie?”

What.

Oh, right. The coffee.

“Uh… anything from the special menu? And let me guess, my dad wants something ridiculously strong, right? Please don’t give him that. Maybe some nice herbal tea?”

“ _Stiles_.”

Stiles smiled at the woman, who smiled back and left the bookshop.

Dad waited until the woman left and turned to Stiles with a cold, hard stare.

“Stop undermining my authority in front of potential customers!”

“Potential… are you serious right now. You are. Jesus, you took those books from under the counter like some shady dealer. Who was that, anyway?

Dad shot him yet another look, this time a mix of disbelief and an exasperated I-hope-you’re-not-joking-because-I-can’t-tell.

“That was Mrs. Hale, you don’t remember her?”

Right. Mrs. Hale. Mother of Derek Hale. That Derek Hale. Responsible for Stiles’ sexuality crisis when he was fourteen.

“Mrs. Hale and her daughter run that coffee shop next to us. But since the business is slow these days, we have a deal. I get coffee, they get books.”

Stiles had a feeling already. It was going to be a long summer.

**

Dad’s bookshop was located almost in the heart of Beacon Hills. It was also entirely his idea to open one there. Stiles was perfectly aware of the fact his dad could live off of his sheriff’s pension, he didn’t even want to consider that though. Any form of inactivity wasn’t in Stilinskis’ blood and Stiles understood that all too well.

Of course, Stiles couldn’t miss the opportunity for a few bad puns here and there. Some of them stuck though, stuck for good. Hence the bookshop was called _Bookengard_.

Stiles tried to give his father a nametag with his name and a title of “The Lord of the Books”. He found his dad’s threat to disown him a bit excessive, too.

 _Mochalicious_ , Mrs. Hale’s coffee shop, was just next door. Literally, the shop and _Bookengard_ ’s walls were connected.

And judging by how often Mrs. Hale (and sometimes her daughter) came by the bookshop to exchange coffee for books, the number of customers there was equally as unimpressive.

A plan started forming in Stiles’ head.

It needed a lot of details and Stiles was almost sure that the entire technical side of it would fall on his father’s shoulders, but he knew it would work.

**

The plan was absolutely genius and even his father’s skepticism couldn’t dampen Stiles’ enthusiasm.

“Dad, you have to admit; this is the best idea I’ve ever had.”

“You said the same thing when you and Scott decided to drop out of school and start a punk rock band.”

Stiles pulled at his hair, frustrated. He just couldn’t understand how his father could joke in such important moment of their lives.

“I was fifteen and I had an unlimited access to the Internet. It’s your fault, really. And you’re going to hold it against me forever, aren’t you?”

The Sheriff didn’t say anything, but his face told Stiles that was exactly what was going to happen.

“Tell me exactly, what is that you’re planning to do?”

“Join your shops!” Stiles said, half annoyed that he had to repeat what he’d explained in great detail not even five minutes ago, and half smug. His dad’s resolve was starting to crack. “In every big city there are _lots_ of these bookstore-coffee shops hybrids and people are practically fighting to get in. It’s gonna be superb. Just think about it. You have no customers, Mrs. Hale has no customers…”

“So we should join forces and have no customers together?” 

Sometimes Stiles thought how much easier his life would be if he hadn’t inherited his incurable sarcasm _from his father_.

**

Unlike his father, Mrs. Hale and her daughter – Laura – shared Stiles’ enthusiasm. Before Stiles even noticed, Mrs. Hale practically kidnapped his dad to work on permissions and applications and other stuff Stiles didn’t really think about yet.

There was a lot to be done, and there were not enough people to do it, but Stiles and Laura’s earnestness helped them overlook such minor issues.

It turned out Laura was quite a skillful interior designer.

It also turned out that hours spent together working on projects drew them closer to each other. So much so that Laura felt free to send random texts to Stiles at two am, and Stiles (after two beers too many, but still) told her once all about his sexual preferences and the main reason he discovered them. He didn’t reveal any names, but Laura (who had two beer less than Stiles) smirked knowingly. Stiles must have been less sneaky than he thought.

“On a scale from one to _I have a different pair of thick framed glasses for each day of the week_ , how hipster do we want our shop to be?”

Stiles was (mostly) serious when he asked that, but Laura just laughed and patted him on the head. It was such an older sister’s gesture, Stiles was sure she had years of practice behind her.

They were sitting at the makeshift chairs in front of a makeshift table made out of planks, in the middle of what was left of the coffee shop, eating Chinese take-out in companionable silence. And that was when Laura decided to share the news with Stiles.

“I asked Derek to come and help us.”

Stiles choked on a spring roll.

“What?”

Laura looked at him critically, moving slightly away from Stiles to give his body a sweeping look.

“We can’t bring the wall down by ourselves, can we? And Derek is _made_ out of muscle, this wall is nothing to him.”

This information wasn’t helpful _at all_ in Stiles’ opinion. Especially when he tried to drink and almost spat everything out.

Laura didn’t comment on his behavior. But if her smile was anything to go by, Stiles was in deep trouble.

**

Stiles wouldn’t admit it even if there was a death threat hanging above his head, but he panicked a bit when he heard that Derek was coming back to Beacon Hills to help them.

It was only because the last memory Stiles had (and cherished greatly) of Derek involved a certain lacrosse practice, sweaty bodies and lots of shirtlessness. Renovating in summer almost always equaled very similar sweaty bodies and sudden lack of shirts.

So no, Stiles’ anxiousness wasn’t so groundless.

**

Reality usually wasn’t as bad as imagination. Stiles had a lot of opportunities to prove that theory right, especially during every exam period ever, when his stubborn brain supplied the worst case scenarios on daily basis.

But the theory was wrong when it came to Derek Hale. Whatever Stiles would have imagined - the reality was way worse. Or better.

What Stiles knew about Derek from his sparse memories – at the age of seventeen Derek looked as if he part-timed as an underwear model, he was also a rising star of the school’s lacrosse team and kind of a loner, which only made the gossips juicier and built his reputation of a bad boy.

What Stiles knew about Derek from Laura – Derek had started a construction company on the East Coast, a couple of hundred miles from Beacon Hills. He was also an aggravating younger brother, who only remembered about the existence of a telephone every once in a while.

What Stiles knew about Derek after seeing him for the first time in years – leather jackets were invented so that Derek Hale could wear them.

(Stiles decided to avoid Laura for the next couple of days. After she introduced them to each other she looked rather smug and it was in Stiles’ best interest not to inquire what that could mean).

Actually they started working right after the necessary formalities and handshakes. Derek shrugged the jacket off and took the hammer into his hands. Stiles followed his example.

They worked arm to arm (chest to chest? Sweaty bodies, no, wrong train of thoughts, Stiles stop) for long, hard hours. Stiles was almost a pro at ignoring everything that wasn’t a wall or his hammer. He also tried to talk to Derek which turned out to be a bit problematic. It could be due to Derek being a natural grump. Or, what seemed more probable, due to the fact that they both needed to stay focused if they didn’t want to end up with a huge chunk of a wall on their heads.

Undeterred by a few (alright, more than a few) failed attempts at having a conversation that would involve both of them, Stiles decided to try a new topic. Books. Books were safe and easy, right.

He cleared his throat to signal the beginning what was supposed to be a very engaging conversation.

“Let me guess. You’re a Ludlum fan.”

That must have been a miss, because Derek’s eyebrows went up. Derek had very expressive eyebrows, Stiles noticed.

“It’s your guess or a stereotype?”

“Ask him about _Twilight_!” They heard Laura’s shout. Derek almost dropped his hammer.

“For Christ’s sake, Laura!” He shouted back, and added, calmer now, “She made me read it, alright.”

“Alright, alright.” Stiles lifted his free hand in a placating manner, cataloguing this information for later.

After a few days Stiles knew that Derek reads mostly classics – oldies, which Stiles wouldn’t have read if he hadn’t had to back in high school, but apparently Derek enjoyed them. Stiles had a feeling that Derek had a strange but well hidden affinity for bad werewolf books, although Derek admitted he only read them for laughs. As if.

“What do you mean you haven’t read _Lord of the Rings_?” Stiles was so outraged he almost splashed out the paint he and Laura were mixing. The wall was gone already – there was a gaping hole instead and everything looked more as if it needed a demolition company more than repair, but Laura was optimistic.

Derek shrugged.

“I’ve seen the movie.”

“It’s- it’s not the same, Derek!”

And that was how Stiles got yet another brilliant idea. He was going to fix Derek’s obvious holes in proper literary education. And he wasn’t going to be subtle about it.

**

Stiles knew he could have been taking the boxes with the books to the back of the shop himself. He could have. But what if he had Derek do it instead? And Derek lost his tank top in the process. Really, Stiles wasn’t the one to complain when Derek bent down to pick up more boxes and really, it looked like his jeans were a new definition of the word “skinny”. 

“Stiles, if you’re done here, could you please come and help me install the espresso machine?”

Stiles cringed, because Laura a) was standing right behind him and b) was definitely too amused, which meant she saw everything and had her own theories about it.

What she didn’t know was that Stiles put memo stickers on most of the books he deemed worthy of his recommendation, writing short summaries that in theory were supposed to encourage Derek to pick them up.

Due to a very exhausting installation of the espresso machine, he missed Derek’s reaction to most of his inspiring descriptions (he might or might have not put a glittery sticker on _Twilight_ ), but he caught him later reading _The Hobbit_ when they were on break, because Stiles’ dad and Mrs. Hale finally came in for inspection.

He was still reading it half an hour later when they were alone, focused, automatically fixing his glasses sliding down his nose from time to time.

It was adorable.

**

One day Stiles entered the coffee shop juggling six rolls of wallpaper they were supposed to put on the walls at the back, when he heard angry voices from behind one of the half empty bookshelves.

“You are seriously pathetic, what are you waiting for?” Laura sounded furious. She never sounded even remotely angry, just irritated. Her default expression was smug. Stiles could imagine how her eyes narrow dangerously, a warning before an attack.

“Nothing. I will be gone in three weeks.” Unlike Laura, Derek seemed eerily calm.

Derek. Stiles froze in place, not even pretending not to be interested in what they were talking about.

“And that’s even more reason to finally do something about it, you idiot!”

“Laura- ”

“Don’t _laura_ me. I’m not blind, I can see what’s happening. And you won’t do anything about it. Again. As usual.”

Derek didn’t reply. Stiles decided it was a good time to reveal himself without being too conspicuous. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

Laura just shook her head, and Derek practically snatched the rolls out of Stiles’ hands and went to the back with a scowl firm on his face.

Stiles didn’t exactly understand what just happened but if his deduction skills were anything to go by, the conversation hit too close to a subject he’d rather avoided for the time being.

**

Sometime around the middle of August the day was so hot both Stiles and Derek did anything to procrastinate as much as they could. And they could, since Laura wasn’t even there and Stiles told his dad to stay home.

Suddenly there was the sound of a small bell hanging above the front door (Stiles’ dad insisted they install it) and Stiles jumped in surprise. Meanwhile Derek merely looked up from the book he was reading.

There was a boy standing in the door, around eight or nine years old, looking around the room uncertainly. The coffee shop didn’t look as if there was a hurricane recently but it was still bearing various signs of repair.

Before Stiles had even any time to react, Derek was in front of the kid, asking him if there was _anything he could help him with_. 

Derek was _nice_. Stiles had a suspicion he was, but now he had a living proof. So far, he’d come to know Derek’s sarcastic side, with a dash of defensive whenever he talked with Laura.

Anyway, the kid wanted to buy a book. And regardless of the fact they were still closed, Derek nodded and let the boy in.

Finally he left with a huge smile on his face and a book Derek had been reading before he'd come in.

Stiles bit his cheek to not to express how cute the whole thing was. What he said instead was:

“I just hope you weren’t reading Tolstoy or something.”

Derek rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch he was previously occupying, grabbing for the first book in reach.

Which happened to be _Twilight_. And if Stiles laughed for five minutes because of the way Derek had thrown the book back, so what? He could now.

**

The summer was inevitably coming to an end, but Derek was still finding new things to fix. And Stiles could understand electricity (he just didn’t want the whole place to go up in flames) but the whole campaign Derek had started against the lamps from IKEA had them all baffled.

“I just don’t get it. What’s wrong with IKEA lamps, Derek?” Stiles asked, but hopped on the passenger seat in Derek’s Camaro (Camaro! God, the guy was loaded). 

Laura graciously allowed them to buy lamps in some high-end designer lamp store a hundred miles from Beacon Hills as long as Derek paid for everything and took Stiles with him to make wise choices. Derek agreed to that surprisingly quickly.

“So we can’t buy anything that would mess with the color palette Laura has picked already. Which means no silvers and coppers. And no bright colors. Dark ones too. Oh, and the light bulbs have to be energy-saving. But otherwise we’re free to choose!”

They ended up in some really exclusive shop, where Stiles wasn’t sure he would be able to afford a light bulb. 

“What about that one?” Stiles pointed at a terrifying monstrosity of a lamp. 

Derek snorted and took off his (top brand, expensive and hot) glasses and put them on Stiles’ nose.

“Just look closely and ask me that again, please.”

Stiles decided in that instant to be as obnoxious as humanly possible.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Seriously, Stiles?” Derek threw him a frustrated look, but Stiles noticed the corners of his lips twitching. Success! “I thought your eyesight is for shit, but turns out it’s your _taste that’s for shit_.”

Stiles reciprocated by pointing out the ugliest lamps he could find in the remaining time they spent in the lamp store.

(The lamps Derek chose were decent – some modern thingy with gold finish – and true to his word, Derek paid for them. Quite a large sum).

**

It was all set. Even the cute printed aprons were hanging on the hooks behind the counter. Laura was polishing the floor, which was completely unnecessary because it basically shone. Derek came to stand next to Stiles, contemplating their work.

 _Bookalicious_ , their new bookstore-slash-coffee shop was vintage enough to draw all the hipster kids from Beacon Hills and sufficiently cozy to not to scare off the rest of customers. It was _the perfect combination_. There were comfortable chairs and couches in front of rows of bookshelves. Everything was in warm browns and beiges and it reminded Stiles of… well, of coffee and good books.

“It looks good.”

“It does,” Stiles agreed, turning to Derek and smiling widely. Derek looked at him and smiled back. “Good job, Derek.”

“You too. Good job.”

And it would have been a very awkward moment if not for Laura.

“Jesus Christ, just stop with the staring and kiss the hell out of each other! You’re both infuriating!”

Laura’s annoyed shout broke something in Stiles. Apparently in Derek too, because when they both burst out laughing, he leaned closer to Stiles.

“Maybe we could, you know, grab a coffee together or something? Since we’re at the coffee shop and all?”

Derek’s grin got even wider and finally, finally he kissed Stiles.

When they eventually got to the table to drink their coffees, they were disgustingly cold.

Neither of them noticed that, though.


End file.
